Sacrificing Angels
by Lexalot
Summary: The Rift will be felt. (Warning: Slash relationship--Clex)
1. Default Chapter

Sacrificing Angels  
  
By: Lexalot  
  
Summary: The Rift will be felt.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Sometimes having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting; That's a matter of opinion. I definitely want, because I certainly do not have.  
  
Inspiration and Reference: Movie-"Superman" the motion picture staring Christopher Reeve; Music--"Calling All Angels" by Jane Siberry; Characters of Lena and Erika (the Contessa) are adapted from the Superman comic books, just as the character of Kon-El (Superboy) was adapted from the same aforementioned source for my second Clex fic entitled "In His Stead".   
  
Notes: Though this story stands very well on its own, it is intended as an introduction piece to my recent fics, "The Dark Side of the Moon", "Heaven and Hell", and "Windows to the Soul" respectively; all of these will be referred to from here on in as The Heaven and Hell Series.  
  
WARNING: This fanfic contains darkly dramatic themes and events, which have been inspired by similar storylines in the DC universe. No offense is intended and reader discretion is advised.  
  
***  
  
Sunshine pierced the threshold of his consciousness, and he woke to the distinct impression that something was amiss.  
  
His arm was draped over Clark's side and his body was spooned behind his dozing lover, and though the tranquility was undisturbed, he still couldn't shake the baffling and persistent notion that all was not as it should have been. The thought occurred to him that it was abnormally bright for this time of morning, and then lightning struck--he had no idea what time it was, and as he lifted his head over Clark's shoulder, he discovered why, the reason for this bothersome feeling, and the root of the problem that caused it. There was debris of plastic and metal scattered about the bedside nightstand, the obliterated ruins of an object that had been in one piece when Lex had laid eyes on it the night before.  
  
Lex raised his wrist to consult his Rolex. "Shit!" Abruptly shocked wide-awake, Lex sat up as realization jumpstarted his brain into overdrive. "Clark, wake up! We overslept!" Lex scurried out of the king-sized bed in a rippling wave of lavender satin sheets. Before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom, he shot an accusing glare at the covered figure still lying immobile upon the cozy mattress. "Someone smashed the alarm clock hitting the snooze button." When he glanced into the mirror above the sink, he heard Clark's soft chuckle break upon his pillow, and Lex shouted out to him, vaguely bemused by the idiosyncrasies of living with his otherworldly lover. "You're impossible, you know that! That's the last one I'm buying."  
  
A playful retort echoed his mockery back at him from the other room. "How do you know you didn't smash it?"  
  
Lex stepped into the doorway to shoot Clark a smug, satirical sneer, and Clark could help but break into poorly contained laughter at his complacency. "Spare me. I'm amazed you can touch anything without destroying it." Lex felt the seconds as they ticked by, and though he knew Clark would be ready in a minute flat, he pressed the fact to cement its importance. "Come on, now. I need to get dressed, and you do too. Don't forget. Lena's coming today."  
  
That was all the reminder necessary.  
  
As Lex prepared, donning one of his best designer suits minus the tie, his mounting enthusiasm bubbled to the surface, his face beaming with a grin he could not dull if he tried--all at the thought of Lena coming for the weekend. He did not get much quality time with his daughter, but he tried to make the best of every visit. She helped satisfy a lifelong need in his life for familial stability, and when she was born, a void that his mother's death had hollowed in his soul began to fill again. Lex lavished affection upon her, loving her more than he ever imagined possible, his personal ambition to be part of a family coming to fruition as he was building one of his own, the core and foundation of which was his darling Lena. Daddy's little girl, she had everything her heart desired, which Lex felt she truly deserved because she filled his life with a joy and purpose he had always feared would elude him his whole existence.  
  
The only troubling seed in the budding empire Lex made of his growing paradise was tangible when Lex met Lena at the penthouse door, her mother standing rigidly behind her, scowling at Lex bitterly as Lena flew into her father's arms. She was clutching a brown plush teddy bear like it was her own baby, as if that were the only toy in the universe and she adored it--and she did; she treasured it above anything else of hers, as this had been a gift from her father, the first in a long line of presents, and this one had been constantly with her since birth, almost a reminder of her father's love and a security blanket in his absence. Lex gathered his daughter up into his grasp as she held onto the stuffed bear, her little legs dangling about his waist, hands clasped around his neck, embracing him eagerly, then turning to mimic her father's gaze at the woman waiting impatiently to be acknowledged.  
  
"Hello, Erika." His address was light-hearted enough as to display no ill will towards the mother of his child, someone who was never his wife and never could have been. She was a contessa and their affair had been a maelstrom that thundered through Lex's life prior to the onset of his relationship with Clark. Theirs was an unspoken history best left as such, lest the ugliness of all the damage dispensed with upon Lena's birth cause a rift that would separate Lex from his sole kin in the world. With Lionel in his cold grave, leaving Lex blessedly free of his reigning tyranny, Lena was every promise of happiness that had been denied him in Lionel, Julian, Lucas, and his dearly, prematurely departed mother Lillian. Lena was his chance for redemption in the matter of blood, as much as Clark was his salvation in the matter of love. Lex was granted one of his greatest wishes in his daughter, and this meant casting aside differences with her mother to maintain a civility between them. Lex was adamant Lena not suffer the burdens of his upbringing--her life would be as happy as he had wanted his to be.  
  
Erika was far less courteous about their uncomfortable position, though. "I won't be available over the course of this weekend, so if you have any conflicts, you'll simply have to deal with them until I return to collect Lena." Her tone, quilted by the thick accent, lacked any semblance of humanity as she talked about her own child like she were nothing more than a shared possession.  
  
"Fine" Lex replied casually, his contempt for this woman smothered by his devotion to the innocent angel holding steadily to him.  
  
The pretentious Contessa anxiously spun around without another revolting word being uttered, and in a frosty breeze of expensive perfume, she made her callously hasty exit. Lex mentally bid her a fond farewell, grateful to be rid of her so easily.  
  
His focus fell squarely on Lena then, and the most genuine of smiles instantly blossomed on his face.  
  
She was a lovely girl of five years, flame red hair inherited from her father's genes cascading over her shoulders in fine strands as straight as her mother's long blonde mane, clothed as a silken flower in a puffy chiffon dress the color of lilac. Lena epitomized sugar and spice, the darling apple of everyone's eye, with the possible exception of her mother, Erika perhaps seeing a distasteful amount of Lex in her.  
  
Lex tenderly kissed Lena's temple, then met her brilliant blue eyes that seemed to capture the vivid purity of the clear sky. He brushed aside a few stray fiery wisps from her fair cheek. "How have you been, sweetheart? What have you been up to?"  
  
"I'm good, Daddy." Her voice was nectarine, and her words glazed as if by honey. "I've been coloring." The spark ignited in her enlarged eyes, like she might burst of excitement. "I brought my coloring book!"  
  
"Well, go get it," Lex responded as he set her feet down gently on the floor, and she ran to the luggage her mother had dumped in the middle of the room.  
  
As she rummaged through the bags, creating an immediate mess, Clark's voice rang out from the other room. "Is she here?"  
  
Lex watched Lena pile the clutter higher and higher, and shook his head in stupefied amusement. "She's definitely here alright."  
  
Clark emerged while Lex gaped at the tiny tornado wreaking havoc on his home already.  
  
"What took you so long?" Lex asked as Clark joined him in the greeting parlor.  
  
The sheer simplicity of Clark's answer made it sound so conventional. "I had to shave."  
  
Lex turned his gaze to his lover as he came to be at his side, more than just a little thrown by the black-rimmed glasses upon his face, and Lex couldn't help but wonder how Clark could make shaving by means of deflected heat vision sound ordinary. "Is my mirror in tact?"  
  
Clark gave Lex an indignant look at his sarcastic remark, but Lex's unrelenting wit was forgotten when an elated shriek pierced their awareness.  
  
"Clark!" Lena scampered into Clark's arms, her coloring book and a box of crayons having joined the teddy bear she hugged close to her.  
  
Suddenly, the shrill ring of a phone disrupted the moment, and Lex broke away to pick it up in another room.  
  
After lingering a few minutes in anticipation of Lex's return, Clark glanced at Lena who had grown silent, waiting just the same for her father to come back.  
  
"Lena, it's a beautiful day outside. Do you want to go out on the veranda and you can color out there?" He noticed her hesitation, eyes darting between him and the door behind which her father had disappeared. "I'll color with you. How's that sound?"  
  
Her eyes fixed on his and she nodded slightly. "Okay."  
  
Just as Clark began to walk out with her hooked around him, perched on the support of his arms, Lex surfaced from the private telephone conversation with an irritated expression distorting his ease. "One of my shareholders has a problem apparently. He and his associates are here, and they're on their way up. They said it couldn't wait until Monday. I'm going to deal with them as quickly as possible and I'll be back." His attention shifted solely to Lena's saddened stare, and he wanted to pacify the disappointment he saw in her. "I love you, baby. I'll only be gone a few minutes."  
  
"Love you too, Daddy." Her voice was coated with dew and syrup.  
  
With that cue, Lex and Clark went their separate ways; Lex retreated to the vestibule beyond the penthouse entrance to meet his unexpected company and Clark carried Lena out onto the concrete terrace.  
  
Lex's patio and backyard was the rooftop of the skyscraper the penthouse capped off, meaning the highest floor and its outdoor space was his domicile, all Luthor domain and adorned in fitting refinements. A wrought iron table sat in the middle of the scene, surrounded by gardens and brick ledges that walled the spacious property in bordering on one side of the building. Clark carted Lena over to the table and set her down in one of the matching wrought iron chairs that had stylish cushions upholstered in fabric rather posh for outdoor living. He pulled his own seat up next to hers, pausing to consider the clouds overhead with a peculiar eye--not an hour ago the sky was clear and sunny, but out of the blue came an ashen overcast.  
  
Nonetheless, Lena opened to the middle of her coloring book, where only one side of the picture had been finished, and then she pulled out two wax crayons from their cardboard casing, handing one of them to Clark. The paper wrapper around it said royal blue, and he noted that Lena's read orchid, seeming to belong in the extended rainbow spectrum somewhere between mauve and violet. This prompted a huge grin which only grew as he analyzed the tones Lena had forged upon the page thus far--all varying hues and shades of purple with the intermittent splotch of royal blue thrown in for contrast, all favorite colors her father made frequent use of in his wardrobe, interior decoration, and anywhere else he wanted.  
  
After a short while of observing Lena's neat coloring, Clark put his own crayon to use. Once Clark had most of his section of the page filled in, Lena began talking out of nowhere as she randomly glanced around her. "Maybe we'll see Superman up here." Clark regarded that sentiment in stride, a little surprised and a little bored of the subject, but Lena was glowing at the possibility, so he indulged her.  
  
"We might, but it isn't too likely. With Superman, you have to be in the right place at the right time," he quipped shrewdly.  
  
She hardly even heard him, lost in childish delight that was on its way to bragging. "I met him once, you know."  
  
"I think you mentioned that to me once before." In truth, she had told him that about a billion times before. Lex and he had arranged it as a surprise for her third birthday, and it seemed her favorite memory since she opened every conversation she had with anyone with it.  
  
His lackluster inflection caught her interest. "What's wrong? Don't you like Superman?"  
  
"I can't stand him." Clark couldn't stop his lips from curving at the corners.  
  
The genuine curiosity stopped her crayon in its tracks. "Why not?"  
  
"He flies around thinking he's so big, and important." He was having way too much fun with this topic.  
  
"But he's so cute." She actually seemed to believe this was a valid counter point, declaring it like that should be the end of the debate right there.  
  
Clark fought desperately to suppress a goofy smile, but the feeling melted inside him when he heard the booming roll in distance and saw the flashing streak bolt through the darkening horizon. A stretch of silence crossed quite a few moments time as he and Lena became mesmerized by the escalating stormy weather. The moment came when Clark wondered what was taking Lex so long, but he did not have the luxury of dwelling on that thought.  
  
No sooner did the wind start flipping the pages of Lena's coloring book than the downpour erupted. Torrential rain snuck up on them faster than they had imagined, and Clark swiftly scooped Lena into his arms along with her things and headed for the glass doors that led back into Lex's study. By time he reached the door, they were both soaked. Clark deposited Lena inside, and then stepped in himself to seek shelter from the tempest as it brewed worse yet. As he began to close the door against the grain of the ferocious storm, he heard them.  
  
More than a hundred frightened voices playing in his head like a hellish nightmare, all crying out for help, praying for their lives. He peered up beyond the clouds, scanning the space above them for the origin of the awful sounds plaguing his superhearing. He found it passing directly over the penthouse, and the distress was obvious--an airplane had been struck by lightning, caught off guard by the sudden arrival of the storm, still on course to Metropolis International Airport, but their left engine was on fire, and they were plunging at a dangerous rate and angle. It was a disaster in the works, fatalities in the process of happening. If he didn't act fast, they would never make it, and no one would survive.  
  
"Lena, I have to do something out here. You stay right here inside your Dad's study. Don't leave this room for any reason. Understand?" The urgency in his voice was surrounded by a confidence that all would be well--he could save these people. Lena saw the seriousness in his eyes, and nodded her head in acceptance of his orders. "Good girl. Don't move. I'll be right back." He threw the mechanism to lock the door from the inside before shutting it and securing her safely within the walls of the penthouse.  
  
When the heavy door caught in place, Lena stood quietly, fragile arms squeezing her teddy bear. Every second that dragged along became scarier and the tension was making her antsy, her nerves wearing against the trickling sands of time. In reality, less than a minute had elapsed, but it seemed like forever to her. All of a sudden, the electricity went out, and the power failure rendered her even more vulnerable than she already felt. The darkness was by far the most intimidating aspect of the situation, and she began taking rapid and erratic breaths. Her back pressed firmly against the door to the terrace, her eyes darting about in vain.  
  
"Daddy?" No answer. "Clark?" The same.  
  
She twisted around, running one hand up the edge of the door to the fastened bolt, and fumbled with the switch to unlock it. Something metallic clicked, and she had barely turned the handle when the door ripped open with a violent gust that startled a yelp from deep within her gut. The part that preoccupied her was the idea of light out here appearing a welcome alternative to the darkness that swallowed her inside, and that was what drew her out into the perilous conditions. Lena invested her faith in Clark being out here somewhere, and that once she had found him, she would be fine.  
  
"Clark?" She was attempting to be brave and ventured out a little further. "Clark?" As she wandered out just a bit more to pursue her search for Clark to a flawed degree, the bear she kept attached to her was whipped out of her petite fingers and blew across the veranda to land on one of the cement ledges. The fear that had cautioned her until this point forgotten, she chased after the stuffed teddy and began to climb the tiered architecture to snatch the bear up and reclaim the last vestige of her sense of security.  
  
She couldn't let this go--it meant the world to her.  
  
***  
  
"Clark!" He heard the plea resonate in his head. It was Lena. Something was wrong--something was terribly wrong.  
  
That cry was way too dire, but he was under a jetliner that depended on him as its sole navigation system to bring it and everyone aboard to safety. He had to slow its approach, throw all his might into altering its trajectory several degrees up and to the right, then he would have to summon strength beyond all he had in him to ease the impact when it came time to land. The runway was straight ahead by then, and it was clearly a point of no return. He had to follow through, having the shortest and most tricky part rushing up on him quickly. This weight was on his shoulders now and he was struggling to bear that burden. It was an ambitious endeavor, but if he could save any of the people, it would be a worthwhile effort.  
  
Just when he thought the predicament was complicated enough, the voice in his ear returned twice as loud, but this time it was worse. "Superman!" Lena was yelling for Superman and her appeal was riddled with panic that swept through him so disturbingly that his resolve faltered and his muscle buckled. She was in trouble, grave danger even. A ghastly chill weakened him from within his very veins, and he fought desperately to find his willpower. "Superman!"  
  
His eyes slammed shut with the pain of hearing her so frantic and in need of his help, but he could not be in two places at once, and the best he could hope for was to hurry and accomplish both against the odds. His courage wavered. The dilemma warred in his mind and tore at his heart. Knowing he couldn't just drop what he was doing to go to her and wishing he could do just that, he opened his eyes and persevered on his current course of action.  
  
The first priority had to be the task at hand. He was going to stay with the aircraft defying all the personal emotion chastising him for not going the exact opposite route that very instant. This was going to take him longer than he would like and now every single second counted more than he could ever recall time meaning to him, but he knew he had to guide it in sensibly, otherwise there was no good done by his rescue--if he weren't careful,it might as well have crashed. It was a conscious decision--the toughest he thought he would ever have to make.  
  
He knew he could not save everyone all the time, but he had to try, and suddenly, superspeed performed like super slow motion.  
  
***  
  
"Superman." It seemed barely audible, like a ghost whispering in the halls.  
  
Lex made his way back into the maze of the penthouse, having dismissed his uninvited company when rumors began circulating of a blackout on the left side of the building. A feeling of dread pooled in his chest when the sound drifted past his ears again in slightly elevated waves compared to before. "Superman!"  
  
He froze--he knew he heard it this time. This was no apparition, no figment of his imagination. When it was born upon the air again with the distinctive mark of panic forged in a moment of jeopardy, Lex listened intensely. "Superman, help!"  
  
Something in him died without cognizant knowledge why, but hopeful denial was potent in Lex's heart, and if it had not pumped that adrenaline into his veins, he would have lost consciousness and other things along with it. Instead, he spoke the overwhelming realization to himself. "Lena."  
  
His legs began to move and run him through several rooms as he followed the continuous cries, and he shouted back, unaware if she could hear him.  
  
Finally, he arrived at his study to discover the room veiled in an ominous darkness. The scene was empty--only sounds of Lena, and absolutely no sign of Clark. Lex grew exceedingly upset, his mind in a frenzied uproar as it tried to deduce what had happened to Clark, why he wasn't here, knowing he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, he had no time to consider this doubly distressing issue. The worry overcame him, and it was obvious time was of the essence, though the specific nature of the crisis was still a mystery to him. As lightning cracked outside, the flash traveled through the open door as it banged once against the wall, shaken by horrendous winds--this gave him a terrifying clue.  
  
"Lena!" He flew out there as fast as he could, and somehow, he knew nothing he could do would be enough.  
  
***  
  
He sat a crushed heap on the amethyst velvet of the sofa, the wet ragged teddy bear next to him soaking the couch.  
  
They were showing her abrupt fall on the national news stations, the feed of her inescapable plummet already picked up from a local television camera that videotaped the catastrophe from the sidewalk across the street while emergency assistance was in transit. That fresh footage had interrupted incoming reports of Superman miraculously preventing a plane and its occupants from colliding with certain destruction. Lex had seen both stories break. Now the crawl at the bottom of the screen read, "Superman to the rescue: this evening in Metropolis, Superman saved flight from demise, no casualties or fatalities" but the images repeating on never-ending display were captioned by the words, "Lena Luthorr falls from high-rise to her death". Disgust and nausea finally forced him to turn off the television set, his heartbreak unable to withstand the insurmountable shock and agony anymore. But he wanted it--it felt appropriate to torture himself. He needed to suffer, because he believed he should suffer this pain and grief and loss for the rest of his accursed existence.  
  
When Lex stood and turned around, there he was, still wearing the costume of his alter ego--Lex's knight in shining armor.  
  
Clark's head hung as he stood leaning against the wall, treating it as the only thing holding him upright. Were it not there, he would have collapsed, just as he had almost fainted when the scene unfolded in its grim aftermath upon his return. His arrival was exceptionally impeccable, as he had shown up in time to see the little body be loaded into a black city vehicle. He wanted to go mad, needed to go crazy, but nothing remotely resembling that kind of release came. His eyes welled with devastating emotion again as he met an identical swamp of mourning saturating Lex's stare.  
  
There was no way to begin. There was nothing he could do. And the inevitable was coming.  
  
"Where were you?" Lex's voice, frail and wounded, didn't skewer Clark and wrench his insides the way the question did. Clark's silence was deafening, drowning out Lex's demand for an explanation. "She kept calling for you. I was trying my best to reach her... Then she slipped..." Lex held his breath at the haunting remembrance of it, and gulped the sobs back down before he could continue. "She couldn't hold on because of the rain and the wind..." Lex's face became a sheath of anger and sorrow, and in a biting tone, he slammed into the words. "She screamed your name the whole way down when she fell."  
  
The memory of that piercing screech had etched itself into his conscience as he brought the behemoth down heavily upon the runway. When that sound had hit his soul, it was like a tidal wave. His heart had sunk, his mind had flooded, and he had tried to believe all hope was not lost--but it had been. His salvation had been compromised, and he hated himself for letting it happen.  
  
He recalled his discussion with Lena earlier, an unwitting prophet's nightmare--and Lex's too.  
  
--With Superman, you have to be in the right place at the right time...He flies around thinking he's so big, and important...I can't stand him...--  
  
And it was true--he couldn't.  
  
"Didn't you hear her?" Lex put the bleeding query to the air so weakly and delicately that it leveled Clark in its crestfallen despair.  
  
"Yeah, I did," he admitted, defeated by his selfless deeds and heroic psyche. There was no such thing as greater good. That treacherous euphemism only meant that something else had to turn out badly instead.  
  
Lex's eyes glazed as his tone emphatically insisted Clark justify his unprecedented irresponsibility. "Then why didn't you come!"  
  
"I literally had the lives of two-hundred people in my hands! What was I supposed to do? Just let them all die?"  
  
"Yes." Lex's comprehension could not reconcile the fact that Clark had chosen to ignore the opportunity he had to save his daughter. Under the pressure of Clark's declared obligation to a plane cabin full of strangers, Lex's features hardened, burning with silent tears and swollen outrage. "You let Lena die!"  
  
Clark nearly choked on the aftertaste of his decision, but he accepted the consequences and Lex's subsequent rejection of his choice because he believed he had done the right thing, as wretchedly regrettable as the result had been. He could only try to make Lex understand. "Besides the other couple hundred passengers on board, there were six children on that plane, two of them even younger than Lena."  
  
"No!" Lex did not care to hear it--any of it. "Don't you even say her name."  
  
Clark was impaled upon his own morality, and it rendered him defenseless. "I'm sorry. It was an accident." Mulling over his part in that accident was more than he could take, however, and he broke beneath his maturing Messiah complex. "I'm so sorry. I..."  
  
"Don't." He already knew, so at the risk of inciting suicidal tendencies, Lex stopped him from saying it. Clark had loved Lena too, loved her like his own, loved her because she was Lex's. It had been an accident, and Clark had done the right thing, but as Lena's father, those were not things he cared to concede. Not now, at the very least. Despite his loathsome state, he couldn't hate Clark for this, but he couldn't stay here with him at that moment either. He couldn't tell him it was okay, or that it wasn't his fault, and he couldn't console him--he simply had no comfort whatsoever to give in the wake of this hell.  
  
As he exited the room, he passed his heavenly angel who had sacrificed his earthly one, and he felt cruelly vindicated by the reprehensible remorse he saw in Clark's face, believing he deserved to experience it, that he deserved to suffer the unfair loss just as Lex did.  
  
If misery loved company, so did guilt, and blame made the two natural bedfellows, mutually doomed to share the tragedy between them.  
  
Though he was certain of his love for Clark as he was his love for Lena, and though he was certain that he would forgive Clark for the loss of Lena rather than lose him too, he was just as certain of one unavoidable truth; the rift between them would be felt forever, from that moment forth. 


	2. Fallen Angels

Fallen Angels  
  
By: Lexalot  
  
Summary: The Rift will begin to divide.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: How can anyone own these guys? Even the people who technically do own them don't own them, but they think they do, so to avoid their legal paperwork, I must state that I do not own them. However, off the record, we all know these guys answer to no one... unless they're in bed... which in my world, they most certainly would be.  
  
Inspiration and Reference: Music--"The Other Side" by David Gray, which can be heard at the end of the recent Smallville episode "Visitor"; some characters and events have been adapted from the Superman and Batman comic books as published by Warner Brothers and DC.  
  
Notes: This story is an addition to The Heaven and Hell Series; it is meant as a follow-up companion piece to "Sacrificing Angels" and is set as its sequel, so though it isn't necessary, it is recommended that story be read before this one, as this fic is not intended to stand on its own.  
  
WARNING: This material contains references to darkly dramatic themes and events from the preceding story; Some reader discretion advised.  
  
***  
  
The artificial glow from the television accounted for more than half of the light in the dim surroundings. Cold gray marble floors with white and black spidery veins met a substantial blaze that licked at the inside of the chimney as it stoked in the fireplace. The flicker of flame and projected imagery combining together cast multifaceted shadows about the room.  
  
His expression was the same placid stone that paved most of the mansion and forged his path.  
  
An interruption came in the local news programming he had been studying so meticulously through veiled impassive façade. He didn't stir from his state, only watching with disguised intent as he had been all along. Even the words "Breaking News" held no higher fascination for him and his unblinking eye remained fixed and sedate. Slightly elevated interest when the report was announced as live and national, and then at the bottom of the screen, the location was revealed to be Metropolis. There was an anchorwoman sitting at a desk, who spoke in a most somber manner.  
  
"Lena Luthor, the five year-old daughter of LexCorp founder and CEO, Lex Luthor, died in a tragic accident just a few minutes ago."  
  
Indifference melted and before it could dissolve, a visual feed replaced the anchorwoman on the monitor and what Bruce saw shattered the ice.  
  
Footage rolled of a little figure falling from a sky-rise penthouse, and the camera followed the silhouette, faltering for a disoriented second right before impact upon the ground, the picture regaining focus to show the ghastly scene several hundred feet away on the cement sidewalk.  
  
Bruce sat forward in his seat and breathed a heavy sigh that whispered of appall. "Oh God."  
  
The taped incident finished, and then the footage looped and began again. It was horrifying to behold. It was worse to see it repeating like a nightmare that would be dreamt during every minute of sleep in hell--that image of Lex's beloved cherubim princess falling from the heavens to her death upon the earth. The idea of such a terrible loss opened the floodgates, and memories of his parents drowned his numb pain in sympathy.  
  
That was all it took. Bruce promptly shut off the television set and fled in quiet resolve.  
  
***  
  
It had been almost three hours. Between the arrival of police and medical units and his departure from Clark as he donned Superman's mantle upstairs, Lex had lived this time as if it were an eternity. He stood in the elevator, descending into what seemed like forever. His eyes were glassy, coated with a thick layer of tears that hadn't the strength or will to break loose, while the white edges were stained pink on the inside. He fidgeted and paced in a pressurized frenzy, feeling trapped--trapped in his skin, trapped in his grief, and trapped in this metal box.  
  
Finally, the doors split open to the lower level of the condominium's grand complex where the parking garage was housed. Lex was ready to bolt for his car as the elevator doors parted, and before they were fully retracted, he squeezed his way out, desperate to escape the imprisonment of reality.  
  
He hadn't known what he would do or where he would go--he hadn't even given it any thought yet--but when his eyes rose from the asphalt ground, Lex broke his course of motion mid-step. There was a Rolls Royce idling directly in front of the elevator, and Lex's old friend Bruce Wayne was standing at its open door. His features were somewhat less sharp than usual, but keenly solemn, his demeanor reserved, but less typically than Lex knew him for being.  
  
"Lex." Bruce paused as Lex furrowed his brow, appearing very confused, either by Bruce's presence or his esoteric humanity. "They told me you were on your way down here." The soft measure in Bruce's voice, the impossibly warm tone with an alien sentimentality about it--Bruce knew. He had heard, and he had come, rushing to Lex's rescue.  
  
"Bruce." Lex breathed his name on a sigh of relief realizing why he was there, and then he demanded coarsely, "Get me the hell out of here, now!"  
  
And with that, as though he were trying to lose some ghost or invisible force chasing him, Lex impatiently ducked into the car.  
  
***  
  
Lex hit Wayne Manor like the thunderstorm that had ravaged Metropolis for one hour and ripped his daughter away from him in one second. He marched up the majestic stairway, through the galleries and deep into the corridors of the mansion with a mentality resigned to either quell or induce self-destruction. Bruce followed calmly at a distance behind him, slowly catching up to Lex in his bedroom. Bruce waited patiently in the doorway while Lex disappeared into the adjoining bathroom with a determined and harried exhaustion worn upon his face.  
  
Bruce's eyes heavily dropped to the floor as he listened to the sounds of Lex's madness as it took hold. He heard Lex tear through the medicine cabinet, wipe everything out from the cabinet under the sink, and sift through the bathroom closet, all with an obsessive, disjointed agony about the chaos he was causing. His pandemonium having yielded nothing, Lex emerged from the bathroom to extend his search into Bruce's bedroom. Lex began opening drawers, rifling through Bruce's private and personal belongings like it was his own property. All the while, Bruce stood motionless in the doorway, hands tucked away in his pants pockets, allowing Lex his tantrum in the most awful gracious manner. Bruce's eyes squinted at Lex through pity and defenseless sorrow, dull sensations, slight sparks of emotion ignited by a rare compassion.  
  
It was an odd position for them both, but it was especially uncommon for Bruce to share a sentimental connection with someone, and for him to want to ease their suffering and accommodate their angst. Bruce knew how Lex felt. Bruce had been a child when he lost his parents; Lex was a father who had lost his child. Anything that hit too close to home was Bruce's real weakness, because where Bruce lived, that was what he held the most sacred.  
  
As Bruce stood by, a mute witness to Lex's deterioration, he mulled over the bleak, potential undoing this meant for Lex. Some morbid part of him wondered what this experience would do to Lex. Bearing in mind that they both contained endless capabilities for darkness of mind and soul, Bruce remembered--as if he could forget--what effect his own life-altering trauma had wrought upon him. He feared for Lex, because if Bruce had still had any fear in him, he would have feared for himself, knowing how his own personal tragedy warped him. But it was of no consequence anymore. Bruce didn't fear, and he didn't care, at least not about himself or how bad this psychosis of his had become, and he imagined whatever change this facilitated, whatever negative influence this had on Lex in time, eventually he wouldn't fear or care either.  
  
Bruce extracted himself from that morose train of thought when Lex had seemingly forsaken the self-driven quest to appeal to Bruce for help. The frustration creasing Lex's brow manifested as manic antagonism in Lex's blue eyes that had smeared gray with her ashes. Lex approached Bruce with all the restraint and charm of an interrogation. "Where are they?" His eyes flared with a crazed edge for an instant, then tamed against the silence. "What? You don't buy into pills anymore? How about the drugs they had you on when we were in high school? Don't tell me there isn't something just lying around!" Lex knew there had to be. Bruce had a developing problem with painkillers--side effect of his hazardous night job. Not only that, but there were probably prescriptions, mainly anti-depressants, from their teen years that Bruce kept refilling just to pacify the doctors who had believed he needed to take them to live a normal and stable life--but he had stopped taking them long ago, and Lex was well aware of this fact. "Valium, Prozac, Xanax, Codine, anything! Jesus, I'll settle for a bottle of Tylenol if I have to! Where are all those pharmaceuticals you're so fond of?" He had shouted the question at Bruce like a deranged lunatic.  
  
Unfazed by Lex's displaced animosity, Bruce blinked casually, a mask of serenity concealing the boy inside who recalled grieving so wretchedly that it was torturous to feel anything at all. Then, Bruce gazed into the tormented look on the face of his old friend and former lover only to recognize an affliction too nearly akin to his own past inconsolable turmoil. A brief silence spelled out Bruce's hesitation, and then with reluctant defeat, he catered to his companion's ailing will. His deep, throaty voice barely broke audible. "I'll get them for you."  
  
***  
  
Lex was sleeping in his bed. Bruce just wasn't sleeping.  
  
Distraught shock mixed with a nominal dosage of medication as supervised by Bruce was keeping Lex catatonic. On occasion, Bruce would find him with his eyes open and vacant, his mind lost in some dark abyss at the recesses of his soul. Seeing Lex like this undid something in him. Lex had always been the one who attempted to spread life to him like it was a contagious infection. It never took though, not in any long-term way--Bruce had his own disease to contend with, and it preoccupied him mercilessly with no real hope for escape or cure.  
  
It had been two days since her death, and two nights since Bruce had been out to patrol the streets of Gotham. It was unprecedented on his part, and he had never intentionally neglected his duties like this before, but he felt his presence around Lex served a higher purpose. He was there for Lex now, and Clark had not been when it was important. It was a difficult choice to stand by, however, and Bruce was torn. He knew his reasons for staying in support of Lex were more selfish than he'd care to admit, but he also knew there were plenty of arguments to the contrary, and his two motivations clashed. Something would have to give soon, and Bruce feared it was coming when it came to his attention that Clark Kent was waiting at the front door to the Manor.  
  
Bruce met him face to face on the entrance hall floor. They were separated by a mere few feet, and as their eyes locked, Bruce saw something in Clark's eyes that he had felt too often doing his so-called heroic job, but Bruce was fairly certain he had not exhibited it for all to see the way Clark laid it bare in his features. His split sympathies notwithstanding, Bruce maintained a superior, heartless level to his voice. "What do you want?"  
  
Clark faltered, then solemnly confessed. "I'm looking for Lex. He's here, isn't he." It wasn't a question, but it was meant to sound like one.  
  
Bruce didn't know if it was X-ray vision or intuition, but he didn't like the idea that it was the former. "He doesn't want to see you."  
  
Dissatisfied with the response, Clark's stare shifted focus and his pupils dilated. Then his eyes widened for a second before growing maudlin. Bruce turned to follow Clark's concentrated gaze and found the corner of the wall up on the second floor gallery. Lex--he must have been up there, listening, aching, struggling. The desire to join his distraught lover was plain in Clark's eyes as was his distress, hurt from the incident first and now by the fact that Lex hid from him.  
  
His responsibility not forgotten, Bruce dispensed with his understanding and various points of view to sanction Lex's crucial mourning period. Drained of voluntary emotion, his timbre sharpened roughly like metal. "Are you going to get out, or do I have to throw you out?"  
  
Clark's wounded look traveled hard to Bruce again, and out of respect for both Bruce and Lex, he succumbed with disappointment. "I'm going."  
  
No sooner did Clark turn his back than Bruce turned his, Clark on his way out the door, Bruce on his way up to confront Lex.  
  
As Bruce stepped behind the corner to the sight of Lex leaning limply against the wall, eyes fixed on some low random spot, they heard the door shut with a thick wooden sound that resonated in the empty space. Since this was the first time Lex had ventured this far from the bedroom, Bruce held his tongue, thinking silent words the best ones until spoken ones came.  
  
A moment passed, an ocean of thought.  
  
"Sometimes, I wish he were dead." Sincere words in a macabre tone, as if Lex were waxing grim philosophic.  
  
Bruce winced reflexively as if that had driven a dagger into his heart. Nothing could have prepared him for Lex saying that--that dreadful sentiment was part of what bound and drove Bruce secretly, in this situation and every other. He opened his eyes narrowly and almost growled out his words. "No, you don't." Wisdom, the horrific irony of hindsight channeling through his insistence--Bruce had wished his father dead once, just once in his life, in childish anger after an argument, and that very night, he got his wish, when his father was murdered along with his mother, and he would spend the rest of eternity knowing he had never really meant it... Bruce hated that he and Lex were so alike, now more than ever.  
  
"Lex," he said heavily in a deliberate tone. "It was an accident."  
  
"So was my meeting Clark. There are no accidents, Bruce." Lex wasn't sure if he was just starting to believe that or if he always had.  
  
"He made a hard decision, and as cruel and unfair as it is, it was the right choice, and he's going to have to live with all that for the rest of his life." Batman's harsh dose of bitter reality coming out Bruce's mouth. "I've been in his position before, Lex. I'll be in that position again. Clark is only beginning to learn what it means to be in this line of work." A touch of guilt playing the devil's advocate, but Bruce couldn't take either side without admitting familiarity with the sting of both. He remained devoutly in Lex's corner, no matter how objective or subjective his own stance, but that last note had rung sour in Lex's ears.  
  
"Don't you dare defend him to me! Don't give me some 'poor Clark' bullshit! He's alive and she isn't!" Lex realized then that Bruce was staring at him sadly with a compassion that was insufferable to see coming from Bruce of all people. That was the moment Lex knew Bruce was treating him like a victim he had to rescue. "Are you trying to save me, Bruce?" Lex was incredulous at Bruce's simultaneous arrogance and ignorance. "You and your charities, and your 'Batman'--You need to save somebody? Why don't you worry about saving yourself!" He felt Bruce flinch internally noticing ripples of it break on the surface, and he wondered what could have possibly inspired such vulnerability in his callous companion. "Why do you care all of a sudden, anyway?"  
  
Bruce felt challenged, threatened with that sacred door gaping wide open, and his solace was compromised by his own character flaw, forcing him to reseal the cracks and vigilantly guard the last thing in him to live or feel. At that instant, Bruce's expression glazed over listless and blank, and he regrettably made the conscious decision to detach, returning more visibly to his former and usual self. "If you don't want me to care, I won't."  
  
That night, Bruce went back to work.  
  
***  
  
A granite angel knelt before him, a child, the image chiseled in her vague likeness as per his specifications for the headstone. Her sculpted face divinely serene, her form preserved forever innocent--Lena was Lex's loss, but innocence was long lost to all three of them, and the broadening gap in that chasm continued to carry them farther away from it. Lex felt himself falling into that rift, and he had the unsettling notion that even the bottom wouldn't break his fall. His descent would be just like Lena's, but his would never end--he was damned to suffer that destiny and know that salvation would never come for him. Lena hadn't been saved, and he wouldn't be either.  
  
In some mocking twist of fate, the sun was shining brightly--the day of her funeral, and Lex's sun was shining, but he wasn't sure if it was for him.  
  
Bruce had accompanied Lex there. In fact, Bruce was his only company, as the services had been private, off-limits to press and spectators, and so his only guest stood in black sunglasses and suit several feet behind allowing him space to grieve. Lex had simply told Bruce he was coming, and though it seemed like there was still an ulterior altruism to Bruce's motives, Lex deluded himself into believing Bruce simply had nothing better to do with his days.  
  
He was peering down at the petite statue, reverence and misery holding him firmly in place, unable to walk away yet. The ceremony was over an hour ago, and he wanted desperately to delay leaving her on into infinity. Thus far, he had remained blessedly undisturbed, but then a tall shadow skulked across the grass towards the open grave with the ornate little coffin still above ground, a single white rose perched atop the pearly marble. His uninvited visitor approached gently, and as Lex made no move to stop him, it became clear he was not unwelcome.  
  
When he came to be at Lex's side, Lex took a quick and painful glance over at him. Clark looked normal and healthy on the surface, which Lex had come to expect, but in Clark's eyes he saw the inner agony he was enduring--the burden of the last four days he had born swam in the expressive sea of his eyes. Clark was clutching a handful of sunflowers in his right hand. Lena had loved sunflowers. They were her favorite because of her father's fondness for them.  
  
Lex felt the hole his disillusionment with Clark had torn in him, but realized nevertheless, he felt he needed Clark to fill that void, which had been ripped wider in his absence. He sensed Clark's will to speak as it made him think the better of keeping quiet. It was up to Lex to bridge the barrier.  
  
After indulging an uneasy moment of silence as he fought back tears in this doubly trying situation, Lex was ready to say what Clark had to hear.  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Clark." Even though Lex knew that was the truth, he still only half believed it. "I just need some time."  
  
Overwhelmed by both relief and sorrow, racked by turbulent feelings, Clark could only nod to emotional excess in understanding.  
  
***  
  
She was falling. He had been reaching for her, and she had just fallen. She had slipped before he was close enough, and now she was falling through the air. She was screaming his name, calling out to him for help. But he wasn't coming. Her descent continued uninterrupted, no sign of him anywhere to be found. And all that was in his power to do was watch as it happened. She was a second from impact, and that was when he was jolted awake.  
  
His eyes shot open and an aftershock coursed through his body. He felt the heavy arm curled around him from behind tighten protectively.  
  
Clark must have been concerned by the tremor that had roused him, because he inched closer and spoke with care. "What's wrong?"  
  
It was the first time he had the nightmare, and it was his first night back with Clark, and it was... "Nothing." 


End file.
